


Catastrophic Results

by navaan



Category: DCU (Animated)
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Magic, Spells & Enchantments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 03:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5114555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan/pseuds/navaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Batman has vanished and Clark is worried but tries not to be. Then fate brings a tiny visitor to his doorstep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catastrophic Results

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Bradygirl_12’s [2015 DCU Fic/Art Halloween Challenge](http://bradygirl-12.livejournal.com/1151703.html).
> 
> You can also [read and comment on Livejournal](http://navaan.livejournal.com/230487.html).

“No, Robin hasn’t heard from him either, J’onn. I’m worried.”

“Are you saying this is not like him, Kal? Being secretive and not forthcoming with information on his whereabouts or missions? I thought it was what made his name.”

Clark wanted to roll is his eyes and scoff at that, because he’d gotten a similar reaction from Diana and the Flash not twenty minutes ago. “It’s different this time.”

“Why?”

He wasn’t going to say: _Because we argued and then he vanished._ It had been a petty disagreement about how Batman had handled the recent Arkham situation. They’d shouted, Batman had told him he had no business in his city, Clark had accused him of going too far, Batman had made a jibe about his secret identity and run of back to Gotham. It wasn’t at all unusual for them to disagree on things, it wasn’t unusual for them to argue occasionally, but the short-tempered escalation had been a deviation from their mutually formed pattern. He respected Bruce, even if sometimes he disagreed with his methods. More than respected him, even if he hadn't bothered to pursue that last thought.

They’d become friends. Good friends. And Clark only wanted to see his friends safe.

All his friends. Always. 

This was nothing different for him. But _Bruce_ was gone and that wasn't just an ordinary occurrence.

“I don’t know. Something about this feels different.”

“Are you following a hunch?”

“He'd be the first to tell you I rely on my boy scout instinct too often. I’m known to do that. ”

“So is he,” J’onn concluded shortly and turned back to the Watchtower’s controls. “Sometimes both of you could use some downtime; time to take a step back from it all.”

He was about to point out that this was not something any of them up here excelled at, but thought that disagreeing for the sake of disagreeing was much less fun when it wasn’t Batman he was trying to rile up a bit. Perhaps it was time to return to Metropolis and live his life as mild-mannered and non-confrontational Clark Kent for a while and make sure he wasn’t just over-analyzing a potentially harmless situation. 

But last time Batman had been missing alien nanotech had been involved and that hadn’t been funny or harmless at all.

“I think downtime sounds like a good idea.” He had an article to finish up and he wanted to check in with Lois before she went to bed. And perhaps it was time to take a step back and put this gnawing worry to the back of his mind for a while. It wasn’t like the rest of the Justice League was wrong. If anyone could take care of himself it was Batman.

He just had to believe that.

* * *

The wind was picking up in Metropolis and the air smelled of autumn. He didn’t need protection from the crisp air, but out of reflex he pulled his jacket a little closer around himself as he walked.

He walked into his apartment building at a deliberately leisurely pace. Sometimes slowing down was the only thing that grounded him after the rush of flying. Behind him the door was falling closed slowly, when a black streak ran past him in a rush. The noise of small, nimble feet made slightly thumping sounds, loud only to his ears, on the hard, smooth floor of the foyer. The black cat looked up at him with intense yellow, as if it expected some sort of reprimand and flattened its ears against its head and then meowed as if it was thanking him, running up the stairs before he could catch it. 

Of course, he could have caught it, if he had made the attempt. But a cat seemed to be hardly enough of a threat to warrant him acting as Superman. The cat hadn’t looked familiar, but it seemed to know where it was going, like it knew the house. Perhaps it was a little runaway that belonged to one of the neighbors and had found its way back now. 

Slowly he made his way up the stairs, searching for his door keys as he went. He was still rummaging through his pockets by the time he closed in on his door. A soft meowing sound made him look up. The cat was sitting in front of his door, looking at him expectantly. 

“Hey,” he said and crouched down as the cat looked at him. “Are you lost, little buddy?” For a moment the cat stared at him with uncannily intelligent wide eyes, holding his own gaze, then it meowed and thumbed its whole body against his knee with a little cute rearing motion and made a grudgingly purring noise with it. He looked down the hallway in both directions, but nobody was there. 

It could still be a neighbor's cat. There was no collar or mark giving that away though.

He remembered the crisp air outside and did not have the heart to just pick the animal up and carry it back outside. So he stood up and looked down at it with a sigh. “Where do you belong, huh?”

The cat looked up at him, the little head going back so it could better look at his face, the neck bent down as far as it went. Then the eyes narrowed and the animal moved. Clark expected it to saunter off now that no food or petting was forthcoming and the human had stood up, turning out to be big and threatening, but the cat turned and scratched at his door with one paw.

“You’re sure you’re not lost?” he asked, amused and just a little curious.

Testing a theory he opened the door, so the cat could see the interior and realize it was not home. The cat walked right in with a regal and satisfied tilt of the head, went right to his living room area, jumped up on the arm chair with on elegant jump and sat down, as if it had finally arrived and knew it wouldn’t be moving again any time soon.

Clark blinked, looked down the hallway again, hoping to see someone who might be able to tell him where his little black friend really belonged, then shrugged his shoulders and went in.

“You’re lucky I have some work to do. We can figure out the mystery of the lost cat when I’m done.”

* * *

He forgot all about his dark companion while he was working. Only when he went to the kitchen to make himself dinner, the cat jumped up and followed him, jumping up on the counter behind him to watch what he was doing with narrowed eyes. He had no cat food in the house, but he supposed he could share some of the salmon he was preparing.

“You are probably hungry,” he mumbled and scratched the cat behind one ear, satisfied when its expression changed from observant and slightly unhappy to happy bliss. “Mom would chase you down from the counter the moment she’d see you,” he added fondly, remembering all the pets they’d had back in Smallville over the years.

He cut up some of the salmon and set it down on a plate waiting for the cat to jump down from the counter on its own to sniff at the presented food. It remained right where it was watching him with that unhappy face again, as he took his own food to the table. There was no chirping meow asking for attention, just the piercing slightly resentful look.

“You are starting to remind me of someone, I know,” he said as he said down. “Dark, brooding and unreadable. And just a tiny bit cute.” 

The cat cocked its head to the side and watched him eat in silence. Clark felt like it was waiting for him to spill all the details. But that was because he was still preoccupied with the mystery of Batman's absence.

* * *

An emergency called him away not half an hour later and as he re-entered via the balcony this time, he caught sight of the cat pacing in his living room, the way Batman would sometimes in the Watchtower when he had a lot on his mind. The cat didn’t even seem surprised by his sudden appearance in the room, it just calmly stopped and sat down to look him over.

“If you could fold your front paws behind your back and look even more scowly, I’d call you Bruce. You’re not a Batcat, are you?”

The cat narrowed its yellow eyes and didn’t make a sound, but it looked like it was rolling its eyes at him for his silliness. As he was still in full Superman persona and costume the best answer to that seemed to be to stare right back and smile.

After all it always worked on Batman when he was in one of his moods.

* * *

He picked up the little black communicator later that night, trying to reach Batman. Like all the times before, there was no answer. For a few hours he had managed to shove all his worries away, but now the fact that a member of the Justice League had vanished without a word was once again on the forefront of his mind.

“Come on, Bruce, where are you?”

The cat chose that exact moment to jump on the table making a dissatisfied curring sound and then came to a stop in front of him. He picked the animal up and to put it back down on the floor. “You’re a guest in this house,” he told it sternly. “And when I said I wanted to call you Bruce, I was joking. One Bruce is more than enough for me to handle most days.”

A few minutes ago he had opened the front door to observe whether the cat would just leave and find its way back to the rightful owners, but so far the cat had avoided even getting close to the door. It had been silent and skulking, only in sight to watch him cautiously from afar.

It was not necessarily the kind of behavior you’d expect from a pet that he supposed lived in close quarters with humans, but not overly unusual with cats either. With the little guy picking out his apartment he had just expected a greater desire to be petted. Now he was surprised when the cat, hopping out of his arms on the way down and landing gracefully on his feet turned around to study him calmly and then stretched up, reaching out with a paw towards the device and meowing. 

He stared. The cat, still stretched upwards, stared back unamused.

Unsure of what might have gotten the cat’s attention he looked at the device more closely. Nothing at all shiny or tinkling there. Perhaps the little guy had hoped for a treat?

* * *

He talked to Robin once more, frustrated when the boy remained evasive about what kind of villain Bruce had gone after this time. Then he checked in with Watchtower.

No sign or word from Batman.

Naturally.

“You really are the most stubborn, most secretive idiot, on planet earth,” he muttered. 

The cat sitting on the armchair again looked up and made an agreeable, kind of purring sound. 

“I really can’t decide if you just agreed with me or told me that the same goes for me.”

When the cat looked up, it looked like it was smirking.

Perhaps he was going just a little bit crazy here. “Mom, always tells me I should not let things fester. But how do you decide if your secretive friend is in need of help, when he never tells you anything?” The cat was following his movements with its eyes, as he moved through the flat and then came to lean onto the sofa. He took of his glasses to rub at his eyes. “He really is an idiot and I’m glad he doesn’t see me now, or he’d tell me to either mind my own business or not be a soppy, overprotective idiot.”

The cat meowed. A short and amiable sound. He supposed it was reacting to the noises he was making, which was a sign for it really being used to humans.

“I just.. I just can’t stop… thinking about him,” he admitted. And that was the truth. It was more than that even. Clark knew he wasn’t only today thinking about Batman and his whereabouts, he _really_ could not stop thinking about him quite often. He thought about Batman smirking at him while they were bantering, about what Bruce would say to how Superman had handled any given situation, about how recently they'd sneaked away from the rest of the Justice League to eat together in their civilian identities when they'd seen a small diner close-by, joking and making polite conversation. It was good to spend time together and even when they disagreed about some things, Clark rarely felt like someone who knew all parts of him really understood all of them; Clark, Kal and Superman. Wasn't it only natural to feel drawn to someone who understood? Who teased him about being a boy scout and never even once flinched away from standing up to him when he was angry – despite the power, despite Superman being who he was? How could this mix of trust and rivalry not be on his mind constantly? He _liked_ Bruce. He’d even listened in to the going-ons of Gotham city before, when the news had indicated things were getting rough in Batman’s city, making sure he’d be ready if Superman would be needed. It was because he was worried for his friend.

Wasn't it?

Yellow eyes remained glued to his face until he came over to scratch the cat behind one of its black ears. It made a grumpy-happy noise that reminded him of Bruce again.

And that wasn't even funny, seeing Bruce Wayne in every reaction of a stray cat. It was time to admit to himself, that Bruce wasn’t just on his mind all the time, because he was worried, or because they shared a complicated friendship.

“I really am in trouble, aren’t I?” he said out loud. “I think I have a crush on Batman. Don't tell anyone.”

He was just happy that nobody was around to hear his confession. Bruce Wayne was not interested in him. And the last thing he wanted was for any awkwardness to creep into their friendship.

It was too important for him to lose.

The cat remained sitting were it was, staring at him intently. Tomorrow he'd solve the mystery of where it belonged.

And then – if he hadn't turned up by morning – he'd find his friend and make sure he was safe.

* * *

He left the door ajar, put the little communicator on the night stand and then changed into his pajamas. Sticking its head around the corner the cat watched him, seemingly unsure whether it should enter or not. It had followed him around the flat with a pondering look for the rest of the evening, but now seemed to be strangely wary. Perhaps it was not usually allowed in the bedroom.

He lay down to read, picking up a book about immigration issues he'd been reading to catch up on some research for a series of articles he planned to write. On silent paws the cat followed him finally, jumping on the bed to sit beside him, head held high and waiting. After a minute of being stared at he looked at the cat and was surprised that the cat's attention was back on the communicator. 

“I can't figure out why you think that's some kind of cat toy,” he murmured, drawing the attention of his little visitor. 

Suddenly the small device made a noise, just the silent sound of someone opening a channel, that did not escape his superhearing. He had the little device in his hand before anyone had said something. “Batman?” he asked.

“No,” an older voice replied. “I'm sorry, sir.” Alfred Pennyworth. Bruce's Butler. “We seem to have retrieved Batman's gear. But there was no sign of...”

“I can be in Gotham in a minute.”

“We are in Metropolis actually,” a younger voice chirped. “We figured out that Batman was following someone here. We think...”

“He walked into a magic trap,” the Butler added.

“Magic?” Clark asked, immediately uneasy, sitting up with a straight back and tense shoulders. “You found his gear?”

“All his gear, Superman. His _suit_ , the belt, everything. It's like someone made him vanish right out of his clothes.”

The cat made a grumpy sound and when he looked down Clark could see it had its paw raised as if it was about to touch his arm to get attention, but had halted mid motion unsure. It meowed again, paw still raised, as if it was gesticulating.

“Vanish? You think he was magicked away?” He threw the cover back to get out of bed. The cat jumped back a bit to not be in his way, then made an imploring noise, not whiny exactly, just frustrated and loud. Clark stared. The cat stared back. “Or like he was turned onto something else?”

There was the slightest moment of recognition, before smoke rose and with a puff a naked Bruce Wayne sat on his bed.

Clark blinked, couldn't look away, blue eyes glued to his now, no longer yellow. And Bruce was very, very naked and right here. “About time you figured it out,” Bruce said.

His throat was dry and he tried to keep his gaze from wandering, tried to keep it up on Bruce's face. “We're not all the world's greatest detective,” he pressed out, trying to ignore the mortified feeling settling in his body and freezing him in place.

“Clearly,” Bruce said and reached for the little device. “Robin? I'm alright. I'll check in later. Get the Batmobile and all the stuff back home, thanks,” he spoke into it and then cut the connection before the questions could start.

Clark was still frozen in place staring and Bruce stared back at him, then smirked. Unhurriedly he got up from the bed and stretched, obviously aware how attractive his naked body was to Clark. “I think I'll have to borrow some clothes,” he announced. “We are not in that phase of our dating yet.”

“Dating?” Clark squeaked, his cheeks going red as he remembered how he'd revealed his feelings to the cat. “That's not...” Instead of finishing his sentence he supersped to the the bathroom and threw a bathrobe at Bruce. “Dating?” he asked for the second time then.

“Why do you think I asked you to that diner last week. You're interested. I'm interested. Let's not do that teenage dance where now we try to pretend you never said that thing about the crush. We need to talk. And it's been a long time coming.”

He had not yet found the appropriate answer to that, when Bruce, now wrapped in Clark's plain white bathrobe leaned over to press a very chaste kiss to his cheek. 

Clearly, Bruce was right. They needed to talk.

“And after, perhaps, we can go back to the naked on your bed part,” Bruce added as he stepped out of his bedroom.

* * *

They were curled up in bed together. In Bruce's bed back in Gotham, because that had been more convenient in the end. Clark had a better idea now of what had happened, of why the cat had transformed back into Bruce when it had, of what Bruce had been doing in Metropolis in the first place.

“You recognized me,” Bruce had whispered against his ear. “I knew you would.”

He'd lifted the curse when he'd recognized the man in the animal.

“The witch thought it quite funny,” Bruce had explained sourly. “We'll have to talk to Diana and Zatanna. Luthor is recruiting magic users.”

And that was why Bruce had been there: Luthor was brewing a magic weapon to take out Superman. Bruce had been worried, like Clark had been worried for Bruce.

“We should thank them,” Clark pointed out with a grin.

“No,” Bruce said, “no, really no. We would have figured this out on our own.” And he kissed him, putting an end to all the doubts.

They would still disagree and argue, they would still have each other's back and understand. But now it would all be so much better.


End file.
